


Touch Base

by Alethia



Category: Star Trek: Discovery
Genre: Confusion, Episode Related, F/M, First Time, Porn, Reunions, Telepathy, Touching
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-22
Updated: 2020-12-22
Packaged: 2021-03-11 01:07:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,336
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28246668
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alethia/pseuds/Alethia
Summary: "After you greeted us, I noticed that you...touched Spock," she said, almost halting, like she was worried about how to say this. "I know that's not unusual among humans, but on Vulcan—for touch-telepaths—I guess I wondered—" she floundered, helpless.Chris blinked, the implication landing. "I'm not banging your brother, Michael," he said, straight-up. Then a thought occurred: "Nor have I ever. Nor do I want to," he added, just to be comprehensive about it because here he was, wanting to touchher, and she thought he was all over Spock.The galaxy had a sense of humor, he'd give it that.
Relationships: Michael Burnham/Christopher Pike
Comments: 57
Kudos: 163





	Touch Base

**Author's Note:**

> I'm currently obsessed with how Pike _touches_ Spock—the touch-telepath!—at least twice: once when he arrives and again in their supposed farewell. This story takes place during that arrival, in and immediately after 2.08 "If Memory Serves."

Relief swept through Chris as he watched first Michael and then Spock descend the shuttle ramp, hale and whole, seeming no worse for wear despite having endured Talosian hospitality. 

"Greetings, Captain," Spock said, even, like this was any old day. Like he _wasn't_ sporting a brand-new beard, hair mussed, the least Vulcan Chris had ever seen him. 

Chris stepped closer. "Spock," he breathed, still hardly believing it. After all these months, he was back. "Are you all right?"

"Much better for seeing you in person, sir. Even if we are only riding into danger." Spock's lips quirked. 

Chris stared. "Is that a smile I see on your face?" he couldn't help but ask. 

"I believe it is, yes," Spock mused.

Chris turned to shoot an amazed look at Michael. She raised a single eyebrow, but otherwise didn't seem thrown. 

He turned back with a smile of his own, trying to figure out how to convey everything racing through his mind. "Well," he said, reaching out to Spock's arm, knowing he would feel Chris' mixture of relief/gratitude/worry/affection with that brief touch, "Welcome to _Discovery_ ," he said with a nod and a welcoming look. 

Then Chris turned and headed for the bridge, not belaboring it.

They needed to get the hell out of dodge. 

***

After the crew's unequivocal support in making a run for it—nothing he expected, a faith that warmed him—Chris settled on his couch, in his most comfortable flannel pants and henley, trying to figure out what the hell message could possibly get Kat on their side. 

She was gonna be _pissed_. 

After discarding the eighth draft, he was startled out of a vacant stare by his door chime.

Chris frowned; it was late. "Come in," he called, setting his PADD down and uncurling from the couch, tossing his blanket aside. 

Michael walked in, still wearing her Vulcan tunic and trousers, the forest green perfectly complementing her skin tone. For all that she was stunning, he could see a hint of exhaustion lurking in her eyes. He wondered when she last slept. 

He couldn't help the flush of pleasure that she was _here_. 

"Michael," he said in welcome.

"I went to your ready room, but the computer said you were here..." she said, hesitant, like she didn't know if she was intruding. 

Chris smiled to let her know it was okay. "I said my door's always open and I'm agnostic on the door. Come in, come in. You look beat. Sit down. Tea?" he asked, already heading for the replicator. 

"Please," she said, a tinge of surprise in her voice, like she had expected him to put up more of a fight. They'd had late-night chats before, in his ready room after a long day, quiet understanding unspooling between them, soft and yielding. 

Chris loved those moments. He got to see another side of her, less professional, more human, another facet of the enigma that was Michael Burnham. Part of him suspected he could sit with her every evening for the rest of his life and still not get enough. 

He tried not to think about that too much. 

"Tea, jasmine, hot. Two mugs," he told the replicator, ordering her favorite, clocking her sitting on the couch in his peripheral. 

"I hope I'm not keeping you from something," she said because of course she did. 

"Please, rescue me from my unfortunate prose," he said, taking the steaming mugs and heading back to the couch. He handed her one, their fingers brushing, the _zing_ of it slipping through him. 

Michael smiled in thanks, bringing the mug to her lips, Chris zeroing in on her mouth—

He looked away, dropping back onto the couch, taking a sip from his own mug. Jasmine burst onto his tongue, bright and happy, settling something in him. After swallowing, he looked over at Michael, two cushions away, studying her mug of tea like it contained the answers to the universe. She sat straight and correct, like she expected someone to balance a book on her head any moment. 

"Jeez, take a load off, would ya?" he asked, draping his arm across the back of the couch and smiling at her, fond. 

Michael blew out a breath, sinking back into the cushions, like she had to make a special effort to relax. 

Come to think of it, he couldn't recall many times when she _had_ looked relaxed. The sight sent an unexpected burst of satisfaction through him. 

"This is the first moment things have been still in...a while," she said, taking another sip, like she was covering some kind of distress with that. 

"The eye of the storm," Chris murmured, wry. 

Michael huffed a tired laugh. "Yes, sir." 

"We're on the run and it's after hours. I think you can call me Chris," he said, dry. 

One corner of Michael's mouth lifted, sending a pleased little spark through him. 

He made her smile. 

Chris took another sip of tea, covering that reaction, just in case. 

"Chris, then," she acknowledged. She took a breath. "I wanted to make sure to say...thank you for letting me go find Spock."

He tipped his head. "Thank _you_ for bringing him back. It can't have been easy."

Michael's jaw clenched. "It wasn't," she admitted.

"Talos?" Chris guessed.

Michael blinked at him, surprised. Her gaze went penetrating, like she was trying to see under his skin. Finally, she nodded. "Talos."

"I'm familiar," he said, rueful. 

"Yes, Vina mentioned you," she said, an odd tone in her voice that he couldn't quite parse. 

Chris wondered at it, but didn't ask, the mention of Vina bringing up emotions that were still close to the surface, even after letting her go. It wasn't that he'd loved Vina—he didn't actually _know_ Vina—but he regretted that he couldn't convince her to give up a life of illusion. He expected he always would. "I hope your visit went better than mine."

"I do understand why Starfleet restricts access to the planet," Michael said, expression troubled. 

"Wanna talk about it?" he asked, keeping his expression open. "No judgment. I know Talos has a way of revealing things, even to ourselves." 

Michael stared at him, so _much_ in her eyes, like she _felt_ that. "I don't think so. Not yet," she corrected, going meditative. "I think I just need to...hide away for a little while." 

And she came to _him_. That warmth within him intensified.

Chris grabbed the blanket he'd discarded and tossed it over her lap. "Welcome to my party."

A smile flitted over her face, Michael pulling the blanket closer, fingers playing with the edge of the southwestern design. "What are you working on?" she asked, careful, like she thought she might be overstepping. 

"Composing a note to Kat. It's harder than you'd think to say, 'I'm defying your orders because they suck, now please help me defy your orders.'"

Michael huffed a laugh, shaking her head at him. "You are not saying that."

"I _want_ to say that," he insisted, light. "But no, I am trying to be more politic. At the very least because this note will definitely get read at my court martial."

Michael's smile faded, expression going sympathetic. "The admiral knows you. She'll see reason."

"Spoken like a true child of Vulcan," he quipped, just for the smile. 

But it was brief, almost pained, as Michael looked away. "Yeah."

Well. He'd misjudged that one. "Spock?" he hazarded, aware he was wading into tricky waters, but wanting her to know she could talk about it. 

She sighed, confirming his guess. "He's very...Spock," she finally said, like that explained anything. 

Then again, maybe it explained everything. "Don't I know it," he said, dry. 

Michael shot him an appreciative look, but it quickly slipped away as her mind turned inward. "I didn't expect forgiveness. I hoped, maybe. But I didn't expect it. You'd think its absence wouldn't hurt so much," she said with a smile that was almost a grimace. 

Chris had reached out before he registered it, closing his hand around hers, the blanket still in her grasp. He squeezed supportively. "Michael..."

Michael breathed out at the touch, but she didn't pull away. She just shook her head and met his eyes, head on. "It's okay. I don't deserve his kindness, I know that."

Chris _ached_ for her. "Everyone deserves kindness," he insisted, eyes holding hers, trying to _make_ her believe it. 

She swallowed and looked down, but at least she didn't argue. 

Chris let the moment pass, noticing her staring at their hands, his hand still covering hers. And once he was aware of it, he became _aware_ of it. Had he pushed too far? Should he pull his hand away? 

He didn't _want_ to. 

"You did this with Spock," she said, meeting his eyes again, not moving her hand. 

Chris frowned, not following. "'This?'"

She turned her hand in his, pressing their palms together, so shockingly intimate that he caught his breath, almost missing her next words. "You touched him," she clarified.

Chris tried to focus on her words, not the little sparks igniting between them. Not on the fact that she was letting him hold her hand. Because if he did focus on that, he'd be going round and round on what it meant, whether it was innocent or meant she was open to more. 

He wanted to touch her a _lot_ more. 

But he wasn't focusing on that. 

"What do you mean?" he finally asked, still distracted by her skin on his. 

Michael sighed, pulling her hand away, sitting up straighter, like she was bracing herself for something. "After you greeted us, I noticed that you...touched Spock," she said, almost halting, like she was worried about how to say this. "I know that's not unusual among humans, but on Vulcan—for touch-telepaths—I guess I wondered—" she floundered, helpless. 

Chris blinked, the implication landing. "I'm not banging your brother, Michael," he said, straight-up. Then a thought occurred: "Nor have I ever. Nor do I want to," he added, just to be comprehensive about it because here he was, wanting to touch _her_ , and she thought he was all over Spock. 

The galaxy had a sense of humor, he'd give it that. 

Michael's eyes widened, an air of embarrassment washing over her. "Right. Of course. I didn't actually mean—you're so—I guess I just wondered how close you are."

"Not exchanging-orgasms close," he said, dry. 

Michael breathed out. "Must you continue talking about sex?"

"Hey, you started it."

"Unintentionally," she insisted. 

But now that she'd brought it up..."God, that never even occurred to me. Spock's like my kid brother. Who stands poised to intellectually eviscerate me at the slightest misstep." Then he tilted his head, considering. "I suppose he's handsome, in a terrifying way. Not sure about the beard, though."

Michael flared a hand, exasperated. "That's what I said."

"Yeah, not my thing. I don't much go for guys, though, so," he added, just to make that clear. Because he wanted to go for _her_ , he really needed her to know _he was an option_. 

Jesus, this day. 

Michael stared at him, unblinking, for a long moment. "Right. That's good to—that makes sense," she said, flustered, like she was trying to figure out the correct response. But was that because it was too personal? Or was it something else?

Chris dearly wished he had a better read on her. 

Figuring he should extricate them from the moment in case it _was_ discomfort, he moved on: "Since I wandered down the wrong trail there, what were you trying to ask?"

Michael gestured at him, helpless. "Spock lets you touch him. For a Vulcan, that is deeply intimate."

Which _still_ did not include a question. Chris decided to take pity on her. "I mean, yeah. I touch the people I'm close to. Spock and I have served together for years. I didn't even think about it the first time I did it; he actually pulled away. He didn't think I'd want him reading me. But I realized that so long as it's my choice, I'm fine with it." 

Michael stared at him, seeming thrown. "You discussed this?"

Chris snorted. "And _how_. We had a very direct, very Vulcan conversation about it. He finds my brain, and I quote, 'fascinating.'"

Michael shook off her surprise, a hint of a smile surfacing. "How very Spock." She considered his words. "So when you touched him today..." 

"It would've taken forever to convey everything going through my head. Easier to just let him in so he can understand it instantly, you know?"

Michael swallowed, seeming struck by that. After a moment she responded. "Yeah," she said, voice low. Chris studied her, trying to understand the new tension in her frame. Waiting her out.

After a moment, she smiled at him, stiff. "Is that common on the _Enterprise_? Does he do this with lots of people?"

With that, understanding dawned. "You know your brother, Michael," Chris said, gentle. "Sure, I can fill in color, but you know his heart."

"I used to," she said, voice shaking, once. "I thought I did. But I don't recognize this version of him. Not entirely." That pained her, Chris could see, though she didn't elaborate.

"Just give him time. He'll come around."

Her expression said she didn't believe it, but she nodded anyway. She took a shaky breath, then looked around, seeming to realize how late it was, that she was curled up on his couch, blanket in her lap. She smiled at him, small, but real. "Thank you for this. I should get to bed."

_I have a bed_ , his mind whispered as she took her leave, Chris startled to realize it wasn't even sexual. He wanted her curled up in his bed just to sleep. He wanted this feeling of closeness, all the time. 

He _wanted_ her. 

And he didn't know what the hell to do about it. 

*** 

The _Discovery_ found a handy planet to hide behind, taking refuge in a system with enough interference to obscure their position. The crew hunkered down, everyone acclimating to the reality of their new status. 

Chris sent off the message to Kat, hoping she was in a forgiving mood. Or that the prospect of answers would outweigh her instinct to rip him a new one. 

Ah, hell. Who was he kidding? She could multitask. 

Still, Chris kept to the regular schedule, wanting things as normal as possible for the crew. Senior officers and those with specialized expertise spent the day with Spock, who downloaded everyone about his experiences. Chris wanted as many minds as feasible working on the mystery. After all, you never knew where the solution was going to come from; they were always stronger working together. 

Alas, Spock's intel only asked more questions, the reasoning behind it escaping everyone. Including Spock, which frustrated him to no end, Chris could tell. 

He let everyone go early, wanting them to rest, figuring downtime might actually prove more fruitful than staring at each other, stumped. 

Spock had other ideas. Of _course_. He lingered behind as the other officers filed out, watching Chris silently. But while Chris could still sense the unease in him, it wasn't as desperate as it had been back when he'd asked for leave. Gratitude swept through him at the realization. 

"You seem better," he offered, leaning back in his desk chair, nodding for Spock to sit. 

He stayed standing. Chris hadn't really expected anything else. "That is a matter of perspective," Spock returned.

"From _my_ perspective," Chris shot back, quirking a smile at him. 

"Perhaps. The conundrum remains, but the root causes have become clearer."

Chris nodded. "It's something," he offered. 

"Not enough."

Chris hadn't expected anything more than that, either. "So what'd you want to talk about?" he asked, gesturing to Spock's continued presence. He didn't do things for no reason; he must have something in mind. 

Spock's gaze went penetrating. "Are you aware you hold affections for Michael?"

Chris didn't even blink. Of course Spock would pick up on that. "Yes."

Spock blinked, like he hadn't expected Chris to admit it. "When you touched me in welcome, you sought to convey such affections?" he asked, dubious.

Chris shrugged. "That wasn't my purpose, but it's also not unexpected. Or unwelcome. I had no intention of hiding it from you."

"You do not need my permission to court my sister," Spock said in that even way he had, like he was talking about the weather on Cestus III and not affairs of the heart. 

Chris shot him a look. "I am aware."

"You are not an indecisive man," Spock said, meaning, _what the hell are you waiting for then?_

Chris huffed a laugh. "I do enjoy it when you insult me with compliments." Then he sighed. "It's not indecision. I'm just not sure she feels the same," he admitted, frowning at the thought. 

"She is thoroughly taken by your presence," Spock disagreed, like this was obvious. 

Chris stared at him. "...what?"

"As I said," Spock shot back, tone indicating that Chris was being unbearably slow here. 

Irritation flushed through him. "You sure about that? For a hot second there she thought I was sleeping with _you_."

Spock shook his head, once. "Your dalliances with men are rare," he dismissed. 

Chris blinked. "I don't think I want to know how you know that," he said, faint. 

"Be that as it may, we are not sleeping together and Michael's eyes stray to you whenever you're in the same room. It was obvious from the moment you two shared space. Any more questions?"

"Yeah, can you _be_ more insufferable?"

"Yes," Spock said simply, that familiar twinkle of mischief blooming in his eyes. 

"Don't I know it," Chris muttered. Then he shook his head. "Even if she does feel something—"

"She does," Spock said, no room for argument. 

"I still need to let her open the door," he finished, pointed. 

Spock tilted his head, like something about this puzzled him. "Michael will not do so. She does not seek to satisfy desires that are purely selfish, particularly if they put her at emotional risk. You have observed her for many weeks now. You know this."

He shot Spock a mutinous look. "She could." 

"You are also not one for denial. This behavior is out of character. Explain."

"I'm her captain," Chris said, obvious. 

If Spock were the type, he would've rolled his eyes. Instead he put his disapproval into his tone: "That is an evasion."

Chris sighed. "It's actually not. The balance of power is tricky."

"You are a skilled communicator. You know how to express interest without undue pressure."

God, he'd forgotten how _annoying_ Spock could be sometimes. "Since you know me so well, why don't you tell me what I'm waiting for?" Chris bit back.

"You have not sought a romantic entanglement since we were last at Talos. Your experience there shook your trust in such things, which your recent conversation with Vina put to rest. And yet still, you hold reservations. I suspect you are wary of vulnerability."

Chris blew out a slow breath. It was an odd thing to be reminded that no, really, Spock did _know_ him. "My feelings are not...casual," he finally admitted. 

Spock shot him a dry look. "If I thought you simply wanted a bedmate, we would not be discussing this." 

Chris tipped his head. But still. "It seems like this holds a high likelihood of somebody getting hurt," he admitted. "I don't particularly relish the idea, nor do I want to hurt Michael."

Spock stared at him in that steady way he had. "You once told me that love is worth the pain."

Chris remembered. He aimed a smile at Spock. "How obnoxious of me."

"I consider it wise counsel. Perhaps you might take it," he said, mild, like he _wasn't_ calling Chris a total fucking hypocrite. 

Then again, he might not be calling Chris a total fucking hypocrite if Chris weren't _being_ a total fucking hypocrite. 

"...yeah," he finally said, dark. 

Spock quirked that unsettling half-smile. "You have seen reason. I will leave you to your self-flagellation," he said, heading for the door. 

"Thank you for insulting me terribly," Chris called after him, only half-joking, which Spock would certainly read. 

Spock turned at the door, slanting a glance at him. "I do believe I insulted you skillfully. Sir," he said, nodding formally like the little brat he was before striding through the door.

Chris snorted. Then he sobered, turning Spock's words over in his mind, trying not to let himself get carried away by the idea that Michael was taken by him. He trusted Spock's read of his sister, generally, but they had also been apart for many years. And by Spock's own admission, his mental state was...fraught. What if Spock's insight was off?

He needed to be sure. 

And like that, he knew where he needed to go. 

***

At sight of him, Tilly half-tripped over the cables running to the sphere cube, righted herself, then looked faintly like she wanted to melt into the floor. "C-captain," she greeted. 

Chris smiled, kind. "At ease, Ensign. Consider this a personal visit."

Tilly straightened, her whole demeanor changing. "Oh, _really_ ," she said with some relish.

He sighed, regret flashing through him. "Why did I do this to myself?"

"Because you're goal-oriented and smart enough to know that I'm your secret weapon. Which ticks my respect up a notch, by the way. So come on. What did our favorite science officer do to finally light a fire under you?"

Chris blinked at her. "You...know?" he asked, surprised. 

Tilly shot him an unimpressed look. "And there goes all that newly-earned respect. We're back to baseline," she quipped. Then she took in his expression and rushed to say, "Which is still very high. Super high. Like, record-setting high, I promise, and I'm going to stop saying words now."

Chris let the corner of his mouth lift. "Right. Well, I suppose this means I haven't been as circumspect as I thought."

"Nah, I'm just a Michael feelings divining rod. It's a gift."

"That I do believe," he said, genuine. "And it wasn't what Michael did. You can thank Spock for this little visit."

Tilly's expression went speculative. "Look at you, handing me a pretense on a silver platter."

Chris snorted at the thought of Tilly going after Spock. "My gift to you. Just don't break him."

"I'd sure like to try," she said, a shade wicked. 

That was...not what they needed to be discussing. Chris waved a hand to get them off that topic. "Anyway. I've been being subtle—"

"Well, what the hell are you doing that for?" she cut in, exasperated.

Chris blinked. Apparently the command aura had well and truly worn off. "Decorum?"

Tilly made a face. "Gets in the way of orgasms. Not a fan." 

"No kidding," he shot back, deadpan.

"Hey, you came to me," she pointed out. 

"A fact I will never live down, I'm sure."

Tilly nodded, enthusiastic. "Totally. We're bros now."

"God help me."

"Nah, that's what I'm here for," she said with what would be arrogance if not for how entirely likeable she was. 

Right, he needed to focus this conversation. "The thing I'm not sure about is, well, Michael," he admitted. "I don't want to make any unwelcome advances."

Tilly blinked at him. Then she blinked again. At a loss. 

Chris suddenly realized he'd struck _Tilly_ silent. He didn't know what to do with that. 

Finally she shook her head, red curls bouncing. "...you're joking, right?" she asked, voice gone high. 

"No?"

Tilly slapped her hand down on the spore drive console, gripping it like she needed it to keep herself upright. "Please tell me you're not this dim." Chris opened his mouth to respond, but Tilly was already talking over him. "You _cannot_ be this dim. You're Captain Pike! Freakin' genius leader man! You cannot have missed the most obvious thing," she insisted. 

"Ensign—"

She rolled her eyes, like she was so over this. "Oh, my god, you won't make any unwanted advances because you _can't_ make any unwanted advances. Michael is _all about_ mounting the Pike," she said, tone dripping innuendo. 

Chris felt his eyes widen, not expecting an answer quite so...visual. Heat swept through him as he pictured it, Michael sliding onto him, luminous and rapturous. 

He quickly shook it off. "You're, uhh, sure about that?"

"Oh, yeah. She wants you to push her into solid objects and have your filthy, sweaty, naughty way with her. Granted, she wouldn't say it quite like that, but that's what I'm here for." 

He shot her a look. "Please tell me her version isn't, 'Captain Pike is nice.'"

"How dare you insult my Michael expertise," she said, deadpan. "And also, no, but I'm not going into details. Just trust me. You are good to go. Just, ya know, knock off your current strategy because it blows."

Chris warmed as he realized what she was really _saying_. Michael...wanted him. She felt it, too.

It hadn't been him alone. 

The giddiness of it threatened to overwhelm him, but Chris got control of himself, shoving those feelings aside to deal with later. He needed to focus. 

"So subtlety was the wrong approach," Chris hazarded, trying to keep his voice even.

"Duh. I mean, I love her, but does Michael strike you as particularly good at the nuance of human social interaction?"

Chris frowned. "I haven't had much chance to form an opinion."

"Because Michael _avoids_ human social interaction. My point exactly." She dropped her eyes down his frame, then up again. "Except with you, that is. She likes talking to you. All your little ready room chats."

Some traitorous _thing_ in him warmed at that confirmation. Tilly seemed to read it in him, her lips twitching. "Aww."

Chris shook it off, sighing. "I rather liked the dignity of being alone and unaffected."

"Not as much as you like Michael," she quipped. "Subtlety doesn't work with Michael. Not when it comes to romance, anyway. It would never occur to her that someone might like her that way. It's why Tyler blunt forced it."

Chris blinked at that, which seemed to strike Tilly. "Not in a—well, no, actually, in hindsight, it was condescending and aggressive and kinda uncool," she decided. 

"Not exactly my style," he said, filing that way for later thought. 

"You might as well just straight-up tell her. Oh, and have supporting arguments. Why you'd be good together, what you like about her."

"You want me to send her a five-paragraph essay?" he asked, dry. 

Tilly grinned. "You mock, but she'd be all over that. _Feelings_ , all neatly organized and summarized? Add some bullet points and she'd be in heaven," she mused. "But no, don't do any of that. You need to _tell her_. Use your big-boy words and fess up."

Heat and nerves warred within him, in equal measure. Tilly could still be mistaken...but _both_ Tilly _and_ Spock misreading her so badly? It seemed unlikely. 

Which left Chris with the obvious conclusion: Michael felt something, too.

Now he just needed to figure out what to do about it. 

***

Even with that, the most certainty he was bound to get, still Chris found himself taking a beat. Part of him wished he could call Number One, but given their current predicament there was just no way. Section 31 would be tracking them; any subspace messages would be like waving a red flag.

And beyond that, Chris had a pretty good idea what Number One would say. Starting with laughter and ending with some choice mockery about "boldly going," no doubt. 

After another day of fruitless theorizing—and no word from Kat—Spock's eyes were heavy on him as he dismissed everyone, Michael obviously lingering behind. Chris ignored Spock's parting challenging look and nodded Michael over to the couch, where they'd often found themselves over the months. She sighed as she took a seat, Chris collecting tea from the replicator and bringing it over. 

Almost like a tradition. 

She nodded in thanks when she accepted a mug, looking into it thoughtfully. 

Chris sank onto the other side of the couch—his side, he'd come to think of it—and took a sip. When she remained quiet, he quirked a small smile at her. "So Spock is being a joy and a pleasure, I see."

Michael scoffed. She took another sip, then shook her head. "He thinks he's teaching me a lesson."

"By being a dick?" Chris asked, light.

"Apparently."

He made a thoughtful noise. "Some day you'll have to tell me about schooling on Vulcan."

"Oh, Spock has his own special methodology," she assured him.

Chris drained the last of his tea and set his mug on the side table. He sighed. "I'm sorry," he said, quiet. 

Michael looked down at her tea, but nodded in thanks. After a moment, she took a breath. "What the Talosians asked for in exchange for saving Spock...it was emotional. He's reacting accordingly. He wouldn't admit that, but he is."

Chris took her in, surprised. She hadn't wanted to talk about Talos before. She hadn't gone into detail in her report. Apparently her avoidance had changed. "What was it?" he asked, keeping his voice soft, coaxing. 

Michael smiled a bitter thing. "The memory of our falling-out. It wasn't pleasant."

Chris nodded, feeling a flush of anger stir, but controlling it. That so wasn't helpful right now. "The Talosians feed off extreme emotions. Part of their charm," he said, dark, his own bitterness welling up. 

Michael looked over at him, curious. "Is that what happened when you were there?"

Chris flashed a pained smile at her, still _feeling_ the horrors of his stay, even years later. "Oh, we went a full twelve rounds. A fun time had by all."

She frowned at him, expression troubled. "Then I'm sorry, too."

Chris shook his head slightly, pushing the memories away. "Normally I'd have nothing kind to say about the Talosians, but I can't ignore that they also saved Spock. Inflicting unnecessary heartache on you in the process, of course, but still. Without them..."

"We might not have him back," Michael concluded, nodding in agreement. 

"It complicates my perspective on them, that's for sure," he muttered. 

Michael took a careful breath. "And Vina?" she asked, like she didn't want to, but couldn't not. 

Chris stilled. Something _pulsed_ in him at Michael's expression—a studied neutrality guarding some deeper feeling, though he couldn't pinpoint what. 

If only she weren't so damn inscrutable. 

"What about her?"

Michael set her tea aside, almost like she was busying her hands. "When the Talosians connected us so that we could communicate undetected, she was—you were holding her." 

Chris watched the way she met his eyes, even, projecting an air of indifference that seemed false, even with her impressive covering skills. Had that _bothered_ her?

He considered, trying to figure out how to _explain_ this, when he'd barely reconciled with it himself. "Vina lives a life of the unreal. When I visited Talos, she convinced herself there was something between us. She offered to be anything I wanted, but what _she_ wanted was...someone. Anyone. I just happened to be there."

Michael frowned. "She said in some ways you never really left Talos."

Chris nodded. "She said something similar to me. Apparently she's been living with an illusory version of me for years."

"So you were just...being kind?" Michael asked, a deeper question there that he couldn't quite see. 

He sighed. "Talos...it messes with your head. Vina knows that, but she chose to stay there, wanting that life. I figure...why destroy the illusion?"

"Because it's not true," Michael offered. 

"She knows the truth. She doesn't want it. At the end of the day, I don't get to decide her life. So yeah, I let her have the fantasy. If it makes her life better, what's the harm?"

Michael shook her head a little, like she understood, but didn't necessarily agree. "I don't know if that's the choice I'd make."

Chris nodded, getting that. "I hope you never have to find out."

Michael took him in, the air around her shifting in a way he couldn't follow. "You're so—you always give people what they need," she said, maybe marveling, maybe frustrated, Chris couldn't tell. 

"Much as I can," he offered, careful now, his heart rate ticking up, senses going alert at the change in her. 

"And who does that for you?" she asked, a little challenge in it. Something about it reminded him of Spock's challenging look, of him throwing Chris' own words back at him. _Love is worth the pain_. 

"Well, Number One kicks my ass on a regular basis, if that's what you mean," he said, light, trying to ignore the way his pulse pounded, knowing that this was the moment. That he needed to say something. 

Michael looked away, something mutinous flashing in her expression before she cleared it. "Right."

Chris kind of hated her closed-off expression. He reached out, taking her hand, squeezing it, skin tingling where they touched. Michael's eyes flew to his, startled. "I serve others," he said, soft. "I try not to let myself need anything else."

"How do you do that?" she asked, helpless, like she wanted to learn it herself. 

Chris ghosted a smile at her. "You just make the choice. Most days it's fine. Then, every once in a while, I find myself...wanting." He ran his thumb over her hand, resolving to _do this_ already. 

Michael stared at him, eyes wide, expression blank. 

That seemed to be all he would get, so Chris settled himself and forged ahead, putting this _feeling_ into his eyes, as much as he could. "You, Michael Burnham, you challenge me in ways I did not foresee. These past months have been...exhilarating. I could pretend that it's just the mission, working so well with a sterling crew, but I try not to lie to myself. You're a big part of it. I find you...captivating. And I figure, it's time I stop thinking that and tell you instead," he finished, eyes steady on hers, thumb still running over her hand, heat slipping through him at the simple touch. 

Michael blinked. She took a shaky breath. "Are you—you're saying—you _like_ me?" she asked, like she might be misunderstanding. 

Chris smiled slightly at the grade-school simplicity of it, though he supposed she wasn't _wrong_. "Yes."

Michael opened her mouth to say something, reconsidered and closed it, then couldn't seem to help herself: "Since when?" 

Chris was suddenly glad he'd talked to Tilly; he actually had these answers prepared. "Terralysium," he said, indulgent. "I liked that you challenged me. I liked that you brought another perspective and stuck to it, arguing from principles. I liked that you confided in me. I liked that you made me laugh."

"...oh," she said, clearly not expecting all that, the air of surprise still hovering around her. She hadn't moved past it, indeed, hadn't reciprocated in any way, her hand still under his. 

So Chris decided to offer the out. "It's okay if you don't feel the same, Michael," he said, quiet, feeling the pang of loss of it, though it needed to be said. "Really. I'm adult enough to take the 'no.' We can move on. No recrimination."

Before he'd even finished, she launched herself across the couch, suddenly in his space, her weight pressing him back into the cushions, her fingers grasping his jacket. "That's not," she said, wild and half-broken, before giving up and pressing her mouth to his. 

Chris sucked in a breath, sudden desire sending a rush to his head as he kissed her back, trying to keep up with how she peppered him with kisses, half-formed phrases dropped between them—"want this," "didn't think," " _please_."

Michael kissed down his chin to his neck, then dropped her forehead against his chest, panting against him, shaking in his arms. 

Chris wrapped her up, shushing her, running a soothing hand down her back, frowning at the distress he felt coming off her, wholly at odds with that kiss. But even still, his body buzzed with pleasure, with the realization that she _wanted_ him. 

"It's not 'no,'" she insisted to his jacket, hands still clinging. 

"Okay," he soothed. "Okay."

"I didn't know—I couldn't tell—you're kind to everyone," she said, frustration in her voice, finally pulling back far enough to meet his eyes.

Chris took her in, essentially sprawled over his lap, hands gripping his jacket, though she seemed unaware of that. He nodded slowly, trying to follow her point, trying not to get lost in the heat of her above him. In how it _wasn't a no_. "I try to be."

"I thought maybe that was just...what it was. You being kind. I thought I was making it into something it's not."

Heat swept through him at the idea that she'd been thinking about this. "You weren't," he said, surprised by the low rumble of his voice. 

"I hated that you kept touching other people," she said, vehement, before crushing her mouth to his.

Chris was ready for it this time, kissing her back, hand coming up to tilt her head as he opened his mouth against hers, tongue sweeping in. 

Michael made a high noise into his mouth, shifting over him, trying to get more. She licked _into_ his mouth just as she slid her leg to the other side of his hips, straddling him as they traded scorching kisses, never parting for too long, neither able to get enough. 

She moved against him, the weight of her body stoking his desire, Chris feeling his cock stir at having an enthusiastic Michael pressing him down, hands moving over him, making those soft sounds into his mouth. 

He groaned and kissed his way down to her jaw, sucking at the soft place just underneath, making Michael gasp. "I thought about this so many times," she confessed as he trailed kisses down her neck. "You on this couch."

Lust shot through him, Chris recontextualizing the time they'd spent here. He pulled away from her neck and found her mouth again, the kiss wet and abandoned. 

Michael moaned into his mouth, shifting her body back to work at her jacket, fumbling it open and off, leaving her in a tank top, pressing close again. 

The movement shifted her over his now very hard cock, Michael making a satisfied noise into their kiss as she felt it, rubbing herself against him, setting off streaks of light behind his eyes. 

Chris groaned as she ground into him, but the tiniest sliver of awareness made him tear his mouth away. "Michael, we're in my ready room," he panted, hands going to her hips, still moving against him, intensifying the lust already bubbling through him. 

"I want you to touch me," she breathed, leaning down to kiss him again, deep and yearning. 

He fell into it, already addicted to her mouth, to the turned-on noises she made while they kissed, like she was hungry for it. Someone in the galaxy was probably strong enough to resist Michael Burnham like this, but it wasn't him. 

Chris broke away, calling out a shaky, "Computer, privacy protocol."

Michael latched onto his earlobe, the wet heat there going straight to his cock. "Please, Chris," she whispered into his ear, half-pleading, half-demanding. 

That was enough for him. Shaking hands made quick work of the clasp on her pants, Chris pressing his hand in, running two fingertips over her panties, already soaked. 

" _Yes_ ," Michael mewled against his jaw, bearing down on his fingers, like she couldn't get enough. 

"Jesus," he muttered, shifting her panties aside and pressing his fingers inside her, finding wet heat, already fluttering around him, rhythmic pulses that lit a fire at the base of his spine. 

Michael tipped her head back and moaned as he found her clit, flicking _up_ with the lightest touch. Her hips moved in counterpoint, her weight heavy and hot over his thighs. Chris tried not to think about what it would feel like when he fucked her like this, her body silky and tight around him. 

"This what you wanted?" he said, kissing along her neck as he rubbed at her G-spot, feeling her gasp and vibrate against him. 

Michael took his mouth again as his fingers found a rhythm, biting his lip when he flicked her clit again. "So good," she panted against his mouth, where he still felt the sting. "You're so good," she said, husky, pulling away to meet his eyes, her own lust-darkened and glassy. "More," she demanded, pressing herself into him, his cock hard and trapped between them, his hand still moving in the tight confines of her pants. 

Chris moaned and kissed her, tongue swiping against hers as she moved on his hand, clutching his shoulders, the fluttering around his fingers increasing as he swiped over her clit more firmly. He was so hard his vision went a little blurry, but he couldn't imagine doing anything but exactly this, right now, coaxing moans and gasps from her perfect mouth, Michael wrapped around him like she never wanted to let go.

When she came, the ecstasy was so stark in her expression, his cock actually _pulsed_.

Chris eased her through it, his fingers still sliding into tight clench of her body, thumb lightly circling her clit. He kept it up until she gasped a protesting noise against his cheek, then he backed off, slowing down, drawing it out.

Michael _mmmed_ and slumped against him, boneless and spent. Chris took her in, marveling at the looseness of her body, nothing he'd ever seen in her before. 

Hazy eyes watched him, a shade of amusement in their dark depths. "Given that I'm the one who came, you certainly look satisfied," she murmured, voice rough.

"I just found a new way to relax you," he shot back, not hiding the triumphant note to his voice. 

"No protest here." She nosed her way across his cheek, then kissed him, mouth soft, satisfied. This was what she tasted like after she came, he realized, kissing her harder. 

He could get used to it.

After several long, slow kisses, Michael still limp over him, she finally pulled back, satisfaction making her eyes glint. She arched a little, just enjoying the stretch. 

Chris huffed a laugh and pulled his fingers out of her, one final brush over her clit making her body jerk. He brought his fingers up to his mouth, tasting her for real, clocking how Michael stilled at the sight, breath catching. 

"We should go somewhere that has a bed now," she said, eyes fixed on his mouth.

"Yeah?" he asked, teasing. "Something else you wanted?"

Michael ground against his still very hard cock, sending a blinding flash of _heat_ through him, stealing his breath. "I can think of a few things," she murmured, kissing him again, making a considering noise as she licked into his mouth, catching her own taste. 

Chris panted against her, stilling her hips, trying to regain his control. "Is this what it's going to be like now?" he asked, visions of Michael directing all her determination toward the bedroom making him a little lightheaded. 

Michael sat back on his thighs, hands resting lightly on his chest, her eyes warm, mouth quirking. "Do I strike you as one for half measures?" 

Chris just stared, taking in her kiss-swollen lips, her glowing skin, the air of satisfaction hovering around her, the picture of gorgeous debauchery. Something _pulsed_ in his chest. "I think I'm going to be grateful for that," he finally said. 

She flashed a smile at him and leaned in for his mouth. "Just one rule, though," she breathed against his lips, light, "you're never touching my brother again."

***

Fin. Feedback is adored.


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